"Vat? You Vant Me To Run? Vat kind of a schmuuuck do I look like?"(with thanks to Lindsay)
First of all, let's clear things up -- although I have calves like a Russian Ox Herder, I did not, in fact, run this year's New York City Marathon. I appreciate the hundreds of fans who wrote in to find out how I did, although I hope I did not break your crisp and enthusiastic spirit. It is spirit like that that keeps America on its twinkletoes.
Many of you have been wondering (or so I imagine) where I've gone off to for the past couple of days. A woman I work with who never, ever took a vacation, decided to give us all the royal fuck you and go to Spain for two-and-a-half weeks (starring Charlie Sheen, Paul Reiser and Kim Basinger -- read: DREAM CAST). Which means that for the next couple of weeks, I am carrying the load of her work, which combined with my work, means I am actually working all 7 hours of the day, which as you can imagine, is a nightmare. I did manage to squeeze in some quality doodling time while my boss was out on lunch (another one of my many talents, doodling usually consists of me tracing my hand, and then painting in the fingernails with a black Sharpie).
I had a horrible realization this weekend that I might already be turning into an angry old woman.
Did I say angry? I meant elated and demented.
One last thing -- I'll ask again: Anyone driving from New York to Boston for Thanksgiving weekend interested in taking a Celine Dion sound-alike (read: me) along? I've got money... and I'm not sure how much a heart of gold is worth these days, but I'll trade it in for Euros.
Did I say "Heart of Gold"? I meant "Dirty-Fingernailed Turd of Gold".